All dogs Go to Heaven

Until Thursday, Gunnar, a sleek, silver gray Weimaranar, was an earth dog. He belonged to my sister and her husband and was 5 months old when they rescued him from an abusive family. He was 6 years old when he stepped over the line of safety and was put down. For the 5 and a half years in between, he was worked, cared for, protected, reprimanded, and loved more because of the major insecurities he developed in the first few months of life.

Lynne's goal was to retrain Gunnar to be happy and secure. Years of obedience schools, Animal Rescue League work, hospital pet therapy and lots of love made her as good a rescuer as anyone. But as hard as she and her family tried, Gunnar's early development to mistrust could not be reversed. He began his life in the household of argumentative people and another dog who was mean and abusive. He learned self preservation the hard way. It wasn't until his second home did he show any signs of trust. Lynne and Tom were diligent in keeping him safe. They knew Gunnar was a dog negatively impacted by human failure. A door left open, a fence to dig under gave him a way out. Not only would he run rampant, but his suppressed insecurities would spring to the surface as well. Gunner's increasing unpredictability forced Lynne come to terms with those failures and make the heartbreaking decision to euthanize.

Pet ownership demands responsibility from beginning to end. Cohabitation in a friendly environment with other animals and humans has to begin immediately and continue forever. If abused or neglected, the probability of negative socialization is very high. And as Lynne and Tom proved, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn't put their abused Humpty Dumpty back secure again.

The ultimate accountability lies in the decision to let a dog go that shows all the signs of potential harm to himself regardless of the amount of love. I watched my sisters' tears fall on Gunnar’s peaceful head while we quietly waited for the Vet‘s euthanizing shot. It was then, at that sight of the two of them, one in pain, the other so relaxed, I understood it was only in her presence Gunnar would ever feel completely safe and secure and, therefore, be trustworthy. Anywhere else, he was fearful. She had faced the sad fact that not every single time could she depend on herself to keep the crucial door to danger closed. Human failure. Human responsiblity.

It comes from the highest authority that all dogs go to heaven. I have to think Gunnar is now running as far as his strong legs and beautiful stride will take him. The only difference is he now races through heaven’s endless wheat fields with blue skies above. I hope there are rabbits for him to chase; ones with no flesh, only wisps of spirit to give him the thrills of his heavenly lifetime. That strong, handsome guy earned his freedom.

A DOG IS A GENTLEMAN; I HOPE TO GO TO HIS HEAVEN SOMEDAY, NOT MAN’S. ~MARK TWAIN